


Apocryphal Honey

by zorazen



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Cum Fetish, Other, Tentacles, Threesome, mmf, monster fucking, shame fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 00:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zorazen/pseuds/zorazen
Summary: Brae the Dragonborn enters Mora's realm to find more than just books.





	Apocryphal Honey

_One, two, three, four._

 

Brae walked into Raven Rock, watching the persistent and slow fall of the ash. Wrapped around the air was the beat. Glover's hammer hitting the anvil.

 

_One. Two. Three. Four._

 

Back in Skyrim he was a legend. They sang songs of him in taverns, Brae, the man who had saved them all. The man who could bend the laws of magic with his tongue. The Breton with eyes as black as the deep sea.

 

That had been so long ago. A relief to be so far away.

 

Solstheim was where he belonged. The councilor had offered him a house, a grand mansion with several rooms, his for the taking. Brae found the place overwhelming, and signed it over to the miners. Several families lived there; some of the children ran out to greet him. He mussed the hair of a little girl, and showed her how he made lightning dance in his hand.

 

“Now, you've almost got it. Needs more heat, go ahead and stick it back in the fire.” Glover was training his apprentice, Nella. Brae walked over to watch. Nella was still gorgeous. Her skin was the same grey as the steel she worked. Sharp red eyes watched for subtle changes in the metal.

 

It was hard to believe that Nella used to be his lover. Back when he'd first come to Raven Rock, they'd found each other. She'd fit him like a glove, and he nearly asked her to marry him. They'd stay up late at night, sparring with magic. Later, in the confines of her house, she'd read and ignore him while he stood over her, stroking himself off. He remembered how she'd turn her head, catch the drops in her mouth and swallow, all while keeping her eyes on her book. It had made him feel pathetic, small, worthless.

 

Oh, he missed her.

 

They'd remained friends. For that he was grateful. He'd even managed to be happy for her and her new husband. His presence, however, wasn't going to help her learn to smith, so he nodded and moved on. Some vegetables at the market, some ingredients from the apothecary. And there, the mushrooms Neloth wanted.

 

He walked back to the mushroom towers. Neloth had offered up a room, and while Brae couldn't quite stand the man, he took him up on the offer. The opportunity was too good to pass up. Neloth didn't seem to care who Brae was, or what he'd done. They would sometimes work on projects together, but for the most part, they kept to themselves.

 

The ash was compacted under his feet. It didn't crunch like snow, or crumble like sand. Brae stopped and looked around. The wind had picked up, blowing the ashfall away from where he stood. Behind him, the water lapped at the shore, as if it was tired of its own existence. The sun was just starting to set, turning the sky that pale shade of nearly white. Brae breathed in, and felt the _thu'un_ rumble through him.

 

“ _YOL.”_ Heat churned its way from his chest, a blast of fire erupting out of his mouth and dancing across the ground. Like a painful sneeze. He laughed. It was so good to be alive, to be here, to see the flakes of ash waltzing through the air.

Alive. Alive, life, blood rolling through his veins, air brushing across his skin, his long hair tickling his cheeks! Life!

 

 _I must look like a madman_ he thought, and decided he could not care less. Talvas was waiting for him in the main tower. Brae recognized the look in his eyes. Hunger. Of a sort. Neloth was busy, so Brae dropped off the bag of mushrooms and took Talvas by the hand. They retired to Brae's private tower, and there, Talvas transformed. From eager to please apprentice, to master in charge of Brae's body. Brae held tight to the coiled wood head board, relishing Talvas's hands, tongue, cock. Talvas's confidence was intoxicating. There were commands, there were scrapes of teeth, there was the taste of Talvas's come on his tongue.

 

Brae slept alone that night. Life was good. The tower was warm, he was sated, food in his belly, the gentle whir of netch calls outside. His breathing evened out, _one, two, three, four._ And there, his thoughts became soft. The fur of a rabbit. The sound of the ocean. And the touch of an arm. Long, and smooth.

 

So smooth. Black. Like his eyes. Black, smooth. There, the touch of green. And the dancing. The arm, it touched, and stroked. The call of the ocean, or was it the shuffling of paper? Brae walked through halls of books. All this knowledge, just out of reach. Spells. The arms. Arms.

 

_Arms._

 

Brae awoke the next day, alone, in his bed, right where he'd been when he went to sleep. _Mora._ He should have known the Prince of Knowledge wouldn't have let him be.

 

Neloth seemed to expect it. “Obviously. Mora doesn't give up knowledge without extracting a price.”

 

Brae stirred his tea. Dreadful stuff, but he needed the clarity it offered. “I have to go back to Apocrypha.”

 

“Yes, yes.” Neloth waved his hand. “I suppose you'll be wanting advice.”

 

Brae couldn't conceal his smile. “My dear friend, I've spent more time in Apocrypha than you've spent studying it. I'll be fine.”

 

Neloth finally looked up, peering at Brae through narrowed eyes. “I _meant_ on where to find a new tome, you ungrateful brat.”

 

The tea somehow managed to strip all moisture from Brae's mouth. He grimaced and set the cup down, waiting for the effects to take place. _There._ With each breath, Brae attuned to the realms of Oblivion. Do enough favors for the Daedra and they were sure to keep their fingers in one's soul. _One._ A thrum. Faint. Like the howl of a dragon, in a snowstorm. _Two._ Drumbeats. He let his eyes fall shut, ignoring Neloth and his incessant blathering. _Three._ The grind of stone on teeth. This he felt, deep in his palms. And there... _Four._ North.

 

The image came together in his mind. An abandoned mine, infested with spiders and bandits. As usual. Packing was simple, easy, regular rations. Potions, armor, a few scrolls. He peeked in and saw Talvas, still asleep on his own bed. Strange man.

 

Three days later, he held the Black Book in his hands. He had a new collection of scratches on his forearm for his efforts, and was down to his last apple. It had been a while since he'd had a proper adventure. Turns out there was a lot he'd forgotten, including sore feet, fatigue and filth under his fingernails. The book beat out an incessant rhythm in his pack. Certainly, it hadn't sounded like a rhythm when he first found one. Just a grinding, tugging, a noise like someone had taken a hammer and scraped it against his teeth. A few visits to Mora's realm and the sounds had coalesced into a proper song.

 

Back home, he scrubbed his body clean. Apocrypha was a filthy place, and he felt the need to be sparkling when he entered. As if soap and perfumes could distract from Mora's eye. Brae didn't hate Mora. That wasn't quite the right word. Instead, he felt a repulsion, a need to avoid the Prince's ever gazing eyes. And a yearning to please him.

 

He took his time. A bit of magic, carefully applied, and the water steamed. He'd thrown flowers and leaves and roots in with the water, and the smell made him drift a bit. Back, to years and years ago, Nella riding his cock. That night, he'd told her how beautiful she was and she'd laughed at him. The shame had flared high, she was too good for him. She'd leaned in and whispered in his ear, “ _you may be dragonborn, but you're nothing to me.”_ Her words clawed at his groin, just as tendrils of ice worked their way through his hair. He'd come so hard that night, that his vision nearly blackened.

 

Nella. He missed her.

 

Cleaned and warmed and smelling faintly of tundra cotton, he settled in to his room. The book hadn't stopped making noise. Mora must be impatient. Part of him wondered what Mora wanted now, the other part found he didn't really give a shit.

 

Another cup of tea, and he opened the book. Years and years ago when he'd been traveling with Lydia, she'd told him that the sight of him reading Mora's tomes was a horror. For him, it was vaguely like being throttled by a lover.

 

The tugging on his soul felt like an embrace. And he was once more in Apocrypha, disoriented and dazed. He rose—had he been on the ground? Yes, on the ground. And he looked up.

 

Green. Thousands of different shades of green, dancing before his eyes. No Mora. Brae took a step and felt his knee give. _Okay. Not as young as I used to be._ Papers fluttered by him, not the cyclones he remembered but instead loose and fluttering, like moths.

 

The stone below his feet was cold and dry. He pressed his cheek to it, and felt the thrum of knowledge humming through the rock. The knowledge in this book had been scattered. That was it. That was what Mora needed.

 

He rose again, this time feeling more like himself. Ahead, he saw a tunnel of books, but this time, the pages were fused. Whereas before he was able to run his fingers through the pages, this time, the books were as solid as bricks. A table lay to his left, with a simple spell tome resting there. Out of curiosity, he tried to open it. It was as stone.

 

There was nowhere to go.

 

Each step in the tunnel only brought him to a solid wall. “Mora!” He called as loud as he could, but no answer came. Around him inky green waters churned. “Mora!” Silence.

Brae was at a loss. This realm seemed... dead.

 

Nothing to do but to open the book. When the dizziness subsided, he was back in his room. And he wasn't alone.

 

_One, two, three, four._

 

It didn't see him. Brae watched the Seeker, how it pulled a book from his shelf and flipped through the pages. The low thrum of its breathing timed with the beat that accompanied Brae's every thought.

 

_One. Two. Three. Four._

 

Usually he'd avoided these things. Or killed them, in Apocrypha. This one was so close to him. He could see the feathery coat in sharp detail. And the thin arms that trembled as they turned the page. Brae looked closer at the feathers. As the Seeker read the words, they transferred, from the paper and onto the coat, before absorbing inward. Becoming the coat.

 

Brae was so fascinated he didn't see the Seeker turn.

 

It didn't attack.

 

 _One._ A beam of energy rippled outward from it. He heard, from deep in the Seeker's chest, a soft rumble. The suggestion of thunder, from miles away.

 

There wasn't much for Brae to do. He hung his hands by his sides, and tuned in to the beat of the magic that danced in his soul. Ebony, impenetrable. His flesh would be as firm, in case the thing attacked.

 

 _Two._ “I sense it.”

 

Brae was shocked out of his spell casting. “You can speak?”

 

The Seeker hovered. And remained silent. All he could see was its eyes, not black, but forest green. They shimmered like water.

 

Brae tried another question. “I suppose that was foolish of me. Perhaps I should ask instead what it is you sense?”

 

 _Three._ “Words.” The Seeker's tentacles were tracing the floor, the walls. Brae watched them move; they were nearly hypnotic. They waved, much like weeds on the bottom of a lake. Each tentacle was smooth. Prehensile. “I sense...knowledge. It must remain here.”

 

“Hmm?” Brae shook his head back into the room. “My books?”

 

 _Four._ “No. And yes. You. Your mind. Mora is... troubled. By your repeated visits.”

 

Brae sat back down. Something about this Seeker did not frighten him.

 

 _One._ “Mora is my master, and yours. He sends me with a message. Do not approach Apocrypha again. You are barred from his realm.”

 

Barred. Well. It had to happen at some point. The last time he was there, he'd taken nearly a library's worth of books. His gain was Mora's loss. The Seeker lifted another tome, and Brae saw the hypnotic way the words rose from the pages. He moved closer, and watched them lock into place. Fascinating.

 

“What's your name, Seeker?” Brae stopped himself from touching the coat. Little ripples of light rolled up the Seeker, and it shuddered.

 

“Inak.” That voice.... Inak spoke with a rhythm, and for a creature covered in words, did not seem too inclined to use them. Brae wanted to hear him again. A vision poured into his mind, like water from a ewer. Days spent in Apocrypha, the waving of green tentacles beckoning him closer. Closer, with every step. He closed his eyes, and the books faded. All that was left was the ocean of arms, pulling and plucking. “ _Inak.”_ It was barely a whisper.

 

Brae opened his eyes. Inak was still there, right in front of him. He looked into the Seeker's eyes and saw there a dark flame. And in it, danced words. Ancient languages, consumed by the Seeker's vast consciousness. “Do not stare for too long, Breton.” Inak's rich voice was a warning, but soft.

 

Brae cocked his head. “Oh? You shy, Seeker?”

 

 _One._ “Your sanity will unravel, should you gaze too long.” One of Inak's chin tentacles lifted, as if to reach out to Brae. He held his breath. A second rhythm joined the first, a lighter pulse in the air.

 

 _Two._ “Ah....” Inak looked past Brae, at the second Seeker who had appeared there. “My soul.”

 

 _One, two._ The other Seeker was like Inak, but not quite. More tentacles, a bushier coat. And her eyes were deep bronze, like sunlight viewed from the bottom of a lake. _Her?_ Brae looked, and sensed femininity, somewhere deep within. Her rhythm pulsed in time with Inak's, matching it and adding to it. He felt a tentacle rise, and touch his cheek. It was Inak, from behind him.

 

 _One._ “This, is my soul. This is Poho. She is part of me, but separate.”

 

 _One, Two._ Poho's eyes fixed on Brae. “Small.” She reached out with a corresponding tentacle, and simultaneously stroked his other cheek. “Small and sweet. You found a nice one, Inak.”

 

 _Two._ Brae felt his muscles soften. First his shoulders. Always knotted, always so tense and bunched up, they softened as if someone had cast heat directly into them. He leaned back, instinct taking over, and pressed his back against the bulk of Inak. Poho brought her lower tentacles up, and traced his robe like a feather on the wind.

 

It was at that moment that Brae made the conscious decision to fuck the Seekers. He tugged his robe, and it pooled around his ankles, leaving him in soft silk trousers and his bare and scarred chest. The trousers displayed his cock, humiliating in its hardness. Gods above, he felt so small and useless between these two creatures. A round wet dot formed on the silk.

 

_One. One, two. One. One Two._

 

A tentacle entered his mouth. Brae closed his lips around it, sucking on the smooth skin. He felt a secretion coming from it, and when Poho pulled the tip from his mouth, a golden strand accompanied it. It was like honey.

 

Poho was vibrating. Her feathery coat flashed with words, and Brae read them as they flicked across. _Burn, heat, passion, lovers, the lovers, pulsing, wet, soft, round, warm, the dance..._

 

Inak ran his arms down Brae's, spreading them wide and holding him in place. Brae leaned his head on Inak's shoulder, and spoke aloud. “My body is yours, Seekers.”

 

 _One, two._ “We are not two, but one, bound in two.” Poho spoke lightly as her tentacle entered Brae's mouth again. “Lick, and go slow.” Her eyes shimmered. Behind him, Inak was lowering Brae's trousers, two of his largest tentacles pushing them down. He couldn't help but watch. The arms of the tentacles were thick, and they shimmered with that same golden slick that now filled his mouth. Brae hummed around the curling tentacle, around its tip.

 

 _One._ “He wants more.” Inak drew his smaller tentacles around Brae's waist. “He is giving himself to me.”

 

“Yes,” Brae said, muffled. “Yours.” What would Nella think of him, consorting with Seekers, begging them inwardly to use him and leave him ragged? She'd be so disappointed in him. His cock hung in the air, dripping onto the floor to mingle with the golden honey left behind by waving tentacles.

 

The rhythms meshed into one. Inak's tentacles lifted Brae into the air, spreading his legs. Poho tickled his chest with her chin tentacles, flicking his nipples, and there, tugging at the curly black hair that spread across him. She giggled. And entered his mouth again. He'd sucked on almost all of them so far, eyes closed and groaning.

 

The maw that adorned the Seeker's chest opened. Brae felt the teeth scrape along his back and he choked on the tentacle in his mouth. Those teeth, and a secondary tongue ran stripes down his back and across the top of his ass. Inak had him, completely bound and crying out in electric pleasure. Rhythms bounced in his ears, quick beats that synced up with his heart. The beat of magic. Of Apocrypha. Of the _thu'un._

 

“Please, gods, fuck me, please!” Brae lost control, pleading at the two Seekers. They were so warm, so wet and slick and sweet. That wet and curling tentacle that had been around his waist worked its way back. Down. In.

 

Brae's voice erupted into a heady groan. The tentacle coiled and twisted into him. It wasn't like a cock, not at all. This was so wet, it was like being fucked by a lake. But the heat, the heat warmed him from within and more honey dripped onto his tongue.

 

Poho's secondary mouth opened. The rhythms escalated, and her tongue emerged. It wrapped around his cock, squeezing the base of it tight. The tentacle inside him pulsed, depositing thick streams of honey that ran out and down his legs. And Poho did not relent. Her tongue lashed his cock, wrapping around like a whip, flicking back and swallowing his own clear drops.

 

Brae trembled against Inak's chest. Those teeth still nipped at him. They urged him on. _Release. On two. One, two, one two._

Brae found himself counting down in his head. The familiar beat. _Ten._ Poho's last face tentacle entered his mouth. Honey dripped out of the corners of his lips, golden sweet slick that made his chest shine. _Nine._ The tentacle in his ass slipped out, and was replaced by a larger one that pulsed ropes into him. More and more honey slicked his ass and thighs and he heard Inak rumble.

 

 _Eight._ The largest of Inak's tentacles pushed inside him. He felt his walls stretch, and he breathed out slow to accommodate him. Poho's clawed hands scratched at his nipples. _Seven._ The heat flooded him from within. His balls tensed up, turning hard and tight. _Six._ And there, Poho kept working his cock. Would they even let him come?

 

 _Five._ The pulsing within him was the largest yet. He could see the rolls, running up the tentacle and disappearing into his asshole. _Four._ Dizziness wrapped its coils around Brae and he cried out again, not caring if anyone heard. _Three._ And Poho worked harder. Her tongue was a sleeve now, sucking him into her secondary mouth.

 

 _Two._ Buzzing, buzzing, and thumping and twisting, and the pump of golden slick, and the sounds of Apocrypha, Inak's warm body, sharp teeth, the tongue around his cock, the tentacle in his ass, Brae worshiped every inch of these Seekers, praying for absolution.

 

 _One._ Poho pulled the come from his body, dragging it out of him like she was pulling his soul from his bones. Brae howled in the air and Inak rumbled one last time before sliding out of him.

 

His floor was ruined.

 

The physical world became a blur. He sensed being laid to rest, a blanket resting upon him. And the sounds of oil and suction rising to surround him. It was moments before sleep pulled him under, and he dreamed of Mora.

 

The Daedric Prince ripped pages from his head. All those books, lost to Brae's mind. Holes where stories once rested.

 

When Brae awoke, the rhythms had stopped.

 

And the silence made him ache. He saw on his desk, a single green feather. It was fringed at the end, and when he touched it, the beat entered his head. Distant, but still there.

 

_We will find you again._

 

 


End file.
